


like a southern face that comforts

by cxyst



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, my nrl obsession manifesting itself in 1k of pure fluff, rugby au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxyst/pseuds/cxyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis is an a-league nrl player and harry is his trophy boyfriend and his masseuse and everything in between</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a southern face that comforts

**Author's Note:**

> notes: i really just wanted to get something out, and as you might know i am a huge nrl fan, so this happened??? it is pure fluff and extremely australian and i can’t decide if i’m ashamed or not. it was going to be a longer kind of thing but i’m kind of bored of it sitting in my google docs, so i thought i’d post it for everybody else to enjoy! so have some dumb rambling cuteness, here take it.
> 
> ♡title from recovery by frank turner♡

harry watches louis’ leggy shadow, cast onto the field by the near-blinding stadium lights, as he darts around opposing players, ball held snug in his arms. his fringe is stuck up messily, sweaty where he’s shoved his fingers through it, and he is so covered in grass stains that his jersey looks more green than maroon and white. his feet slide a little on the damp ground and someone tackles him, hard. harry’s seen lou knocked down a million times before, seen endless bloody noses and lilac-bruised shoulders and injured knees, but he still flinches. louis struggles against the heavier players on top of him until the ref calls out and they stand, rush to line up again. harry lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. but louis just bounces back up, plays the ball behind him and jogs into his next position, and he looks so at home that harry can’t help but smile a little.

the air is chilly with the oncoming winter, but he is warm in the stands, wrapped in his two coats and scarf and beanie and woolen gloves. louis always teases him about how skinny he is - all the clothes he needs to keep warm, how they swamp his lanky frame - but harry knows lou loves the way he can still push him around even though he’s is a full head taller. he snuffles into his scarf and scans the field to find louis again. his team is so fast, and harry is distracted watching the muscles in louis’ thighs, so he doesn’t notice that they’re setting him up for a try until louis darts around one last player and dives on the ground. the crowd bellows, and harry is jolted sideways as the man next to him jumps up and waves his maroon flag, sloshing beer on his shoes. harry claps his thick gloves together, grinning, as he sees louis throw the ball up in the air with a yell before being engulfed by his team mates.

-

after the game, harry waits behind the stands for louis to come out of the change rooms. the air is sharper out here, and there’s a thick kind of darkness without the glare of the stadium lights. harry bites his lip and thumbs around on his phone for a bit, shoulders hunched against the cold. the door finally opens, letting out the wave of shouting, shoving testosterone that is the manly eagles a-grade nrl team. he spots louis and stands up a little straighter, legs pressed together, pushes his hair out of his eyes with a gloved hand.

‘harold!’

‘aye, it’s pretty boy!’

harry doesn’t know who the shouts come from, but it wouldn’t be unusual for it to be any member of the team. at first he thought louis’ mates were making fun of him, but now he doesn’t mind the nicknames, because louis says it’s just the way they are, that it means they like him. he smiles at the team.

‘lou,’ he calls out, waving a little, cheeks pink.

louis turns around and grins, eyes crinkling. harry knows this fond look, the slight quirk at the corner of his broad smile that’s just for him. louis jogs towards him and throws himself into his arms, cheers, ‘haz, babe, we won!’ he’s bouncy, high on joy and adrenaline. harry feels shivery and very in love.

‘i know, i watched. your try was amazing.’

louis grins wider and tucks his face into harry’s neck. his cheeks are hot against his wind-chilled skin. lou’s voice drops, careful as he slips into harry’s quiet sweetness. ‘nah, the boys set that one up for me. just got in the right position.’

‘i reckon!’ daley - number one, the fullback - calls out as he passes them. ‘it was all us, tommo.’

louis turns around, leaning back into harry’s arm where it’s curled around his waist. he jumps into rowdy footballer mode as quickly as he slipped out of it. ‘yeah, rightio evans,’ he laughs. ‘were you even part of that play?’

daley just gives him the finger and keeps walking, which makes louis laugh harder. harry watches him with his own fond smile; louis’ light fringe is messy over his eyes, cheeks flushed, jersey still damp under his jacket. his collarbones are grass-stained.

harry thumbs over them absently. ‘how do you even get dirty here?’ his voice is whisper-soft after louis’ sudden energy.

‘fuck if i know,’ louis shrugs, linking their fingers together. he takes a deep breath, calming again. ‘ready to go?’

harry nods, offers a hand, ‘want me to carry your bag?’

‘always the gentleman,’ lou stands on his toes to kiss him quickly and hooks the light kit bag over harry’s coat-clad arm. ‘thanks, love.’

-

they walk back to harry’s car in the dark, and one of louis hands is freezing where it’s jammed into his jacket pocket, but the other is held tightly in harry’s, so he doesn’t mind.  
when harry opens the door for him, louis collapses into the passenger seat and lets out a long, foggy breath. he can feel his heartbeat slowing, the adrenaline seeping out of his body and pooling around his rugby boots like something thick, sticky. he wants to go home and let harry wrap him up in soft light and double choc tim tams and shitty tv, let him massage out more than the ache in his muscles with kisses and his husky voice. he knows he’ll be able to whisper stupid observations about the shows they watch into harry’s collarbones, and he’ll be able to wear his glasses, and those dumb owl socks his sisters bought him for christmas. he won’t have to bother with all the banter and boyish roughhousing that he does when he’s with the team.

harry brings out a gentler side of him, something softer, easy. rugby is so much pressure, on and off the field, and though louis loves his sport, he needs harry to balance it out.

sometimes he thinks is two different people. he doesn’t know if he’s okay with that or not.

-

they’re in the bath, later. harry’s got louis sitting between his legs. he spreads body wash over louis’ strong shoulders and digs his fingers in, trying to work out the knots there. louis lets out a shaky breath and slides his toes along harry’s soapy calf, lets his head hang forward.

‘thanks,’ he whispers, voice tight.

harry kisses the back of his neck, murmurs, ‘any time,’ and means it. he knows it’s not really okay for louis to talk about injuries with his team; it’s expected that the players act tough, keep their pain under wraps, lest they be called out as a wuss. it’s yet another australian thing that harry doesn’t understand, but either way, louis doesn’t need to do it with him. he’s allowed to be small and sore here.

‘in there?’ harry clarifies, spreading his fingers over the back of louis’ ribs and pressing his thumbs along the knobs of his spine.

louis grits his teeth and speaks, a tense, ‘yeah, there,’ and harry continues, knowing just the way louis needs to be helped.

the entire situation is frighteningly domestic, really, but harry thinks it’s alright that they’re at this stage by now. they’re probably past the honeymoon bit, when they needed to be with each other constantly. where   
they made each other playlists and found themselves making out in the back of taxi’s and in booths at restaurants and... actually.

‘lou,’ harry says through his growing smile. ‘was it last week that we got kicked out of that pizza place?’

he laughs through his teeth. ‘yes. why are you thinking about that?’

harry slides his hands over the soap on lou’s skin again, watching goosebumps rise as he moves down to knead gently at the back of his biceps. ‘was just thinking about us. how long’s it been, now?’

‘uh…when did you move here again? two years ago?’ louis shifts around so he’s facing harry, careful to avoid the plug as he leans against the other end of the bath. ‘do my calves, please?’

‘yeah. i don’t know. feels like we’re old men sometimes, doesn’t it?’

louis laughs again. ‘you’re such an idiot. i love you.’

‘see!’ harry squeezes along louis’ calves, tight from running. ‘we’re all…husband-y!’

and they both laugh like giddy idiots and harry thinks about how happy he is that he can be this for louis. everything else in his life is pretty mad, with training and games and press to deal with, and harry wants their relationship to be the easy thing, to balance it all out. judging by the way louis smiles at him now, through the bath steam and his wet fringe and droopy eyelids, harry thinks he’s doing alright.


End file.
